Warning: I’m about to talk about masturbation. I’m pretty sure that in the 24+ years that I’ve been brogging, I’ve never straight up talked about this before, because I’m demure like that, but let’s be grown-ups here, everyone dude fucking does it, and being honest with myself, nobody reads my shit in the first place, so it’s not like I genuinely have anything to be worried about writing about it.
But jerking off into a plastic medical sample cup in the back of a parking garage, because the instructions I was given was that there’s not a huge window of time after collection to get it to the clinic, and oh by the way, the doctor is only in at the location you need to drop off at on Monday and Wednesday between 1-3 pm, no pressure or anything.
Make no mistake, masturbation is masturbation, but this was definitely into the very definition of the term, collecting. There was absolutely little pleasurable about it, and it was about as challenging as the speeder bike levels in Battletoads to get into the correct space for any collections to even occur, with a clock over your head, unfamiliar settings, the innate concern of any nosy passerbys catching you, and the fact that you have to release and catch into a little plastic cup.
Don’t get me wrong, the mission was still accomplished, but in this particular case, it definitely felt like a mission and not a euphemism, and accomplishing it was more accomplishing than it should’ve been.
And this is what responsibility feels like, as someone who had a vasectomy in order to do my part in protecting my wife and be an ally to bullshit reproductive oppression. Three months post-op, is the test to make sure that the surgery kept, and that my swimmers are out of the pool and no longer in play.
I can say now, that I’m verified sterile at this point, which was something I was curious about, seeing as how laughably easy it was for me to have children, I thought even if there were the smallest percentile that a vasectomy wouldn’t take, it would be just my luck that I’d fall into it, and have to go back onto the table a second time. But no, my results showed no swimmers in the sample, so it’s safe to say that the surgery took, and that the shop is officially closed.
Ironic, and sad, how the want to be responsible and considerate and not reckless leads to being a much bigger pain in the ass than if I were just some asshole content to just spooge all over the place and expect everyone else to have it be their problem.
But practice what I preach, and if I want the world to be a better place, got to try and set examples of doing the things that I believe can make that happen, fruitless battle it may seem, like all the time.
